


One Of These Things Is... Not A Twin Anymore

by PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: If you don't cry I'm doing it wrong, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 23:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2043912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess/pseuds/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in response to a blatant challenge to my ability to make people cry over the Weasley Twins.</p>
<p>Stages of Grief and Disbelief in a world full of magic and ghosts...</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Of These Things Is... Not A Twin Anymore

It was a strange sensation… to be one.

One alone.

An individual in a world of individuals.

Where once there were two, two equals, two alike, the special two.  
Everything doubled, interchangeable identity…

But now the only time he is paired, is when the haunted eyes in the mirror’s reflective surface, gaze back with the question that echoed within the cavernous void inside…

_"Why wasn’t it me?"_

It is asked again and again, but he has no answer.

And so it continues to ask both in his mind, and in the eyes of the people he interacts with. The expressions that demand to know why he dared stand where Fred stood… why he pretended things were fine, when he should be buried peacefully underground instead.

Many said it would get better. To ‘give it time’.

Time was meaningless. How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Months?

…Years?

Everything felt like it had only been a moment ago. Like he could turn around and hear the raging sound of battle, have the chance to shove him out of the way… take the curse, like he should have.

He’d been so close… so very close… and he had failed.

Perhaps living on was the penance for his inattentiveness? 

It all seemed to blur together, life. An endless stream of mindless activities and faces, the high whine of different voices blending into background noise, the furtive glances in reflective surfaces before dashing away…

Nothing mattered. Nothing made sense.

Not the way they only had one cake on their birthday.

Not the way his mother would go in for a hug, only to quickly wrap both arms around him, where she would usually give a one-armed cuddle to both her boys.

Not the way everyone avoided saying his name… like it was a secret, a word that must not be said.

Not the way there was always a small unwrapped bundle at the base of the tree at christmas… and everyone pretended not to notice.

Not the way his mother could not help but carefully knit the contents of that package by hand, tears streaming down her face, as a jumper emboldened with the letter ‘F’ unfurled…

Not the way he always felt incomplete when he wore his. 

Not the way it always felt like Fred would come through the door, make a  bad joke and slide into the still-made bed on his half of the room.

Not the way everyone softened around him, coddled him. He never wanted that… he wanted Fred.

He wanted to be able to SAY the name, to TALK about him to someone, anyone… he missed him, so, SO much and everyone was pretending life went on?

HOW?

He wanted to scream it at the top of his lungs at them. HOW can they go on? He wanted someone to say something that wasn’t merely a platitude… to tell him it was okay to feel this way… to sit down and talk with him about Fred for just a minute…

-

The heaving sobs registered in the same moment as reality crashed back down on George. Ron and Ginny were kneeling by him, gingerly touching his shoulders in support and talking quietly…

"Then talk about him."

He glanced up in surprise, unaware he’d been speaking aloud.

"Yeah, we’re listening."

But now the opportunity had arisen, the words wouldn’t come.

Ginny held out a small package.

He took the item with care, shaking fingers requiring the assistance of his youngest brother to unwrap the brown paper… and carefully pulling out the green jumper.

Emblazoned across the front was a large golden  _'F'_ , just like he knew it would have.

Without another word, he slid it on over rumpled pyjamas (Charlie’s cast offs from years ago), and felt a little better. George settled to sitting cross-legged on the cool wooden floor, and both Ron and Ginny fell in to either side, each leaning ever-so-slightly upon their big brother.

From somewhere, his voice came… and he talked… he talked about everything and nothing, of big things and little things, of pranks and secrets, of adventures and quiet times, of their first year at Hogwarts, of their first detention, of sneaking into different common rooms, of the detentions gained from that… 

It all flowed out, words winding about the room and encircling the inhabitants like devil’s snare, but the kind you wanted to be caught in… it felt, light. It felt safe, and warm.

He wasn’t sure when the words stopped, but the silence was not so loud now… he wasn’t so alone with the warm bodies of his younger siblings pressed against his sides… the world didn’t feel so big, and cold, and empty anymore.

He felt… a spark light up in his chest that had long-since been diminished by pain, and fear… and anguish. It was not as bright and brilliant as it used to be… but it was there, like rekindled hope.

"Thank you…" he said to neither in particular. "I feel… less like nothing… and a little more like something."

He could feel the way they tried not to tense at that particular statement.

Ginny moved her head to his shoulder and sighed softly, “I’m glad… but… George…”

"…will you come with us to St Mungo’s tomorrow morning?" Ron finished, pulling away and looking George in the eyes non-confrontationally. Like he was trying to see the spark that the former-twin could feel in his chest…

"I… yes, yes I’ll come. Nothing will ever replace Fred, but I can’t stay like this… I can’t be afraid to be myself anymore, I can’t…" he didn’t know how to put it, it was right there on his tongue, but he couldn’t spit it out.

"You can’t keep trying to be Fred, anymore."

Shocked, he stared at their-… his… little brother. “Yes.”

Ron shrugged, “It’s okay, you’re not expected to be okay after something like that… we weren’t, and you were even closer than us.”

Ginny gripped his arm, “It’s not going to be okay overnight, but we’re with you until it is… we’ll all go to St Mungo’s tomorrow. It’s…” she paused as if considering the words and their implications before continuing, “…it’s what Fred would have wanted for you, to go on, because we know it’s what you would have wanted for him if the situation had been reversed. Don’t deny it.”

When had all his siblings become so logical and adult-like?

It was terrifying and comforting all at once… like hugging a friendly cactus offering emotional support. That… didn’t make a lot of sense, but his thoughts were all over the place right now, but they weren’t anxious or blurred around the edges like usual.

He just felt, sort of… not happy, but more like things might turn out okay sometime in the distant future… like, peaceful but with an edge. Also quite tired, emotionally drained, but okay-ish.

If there was a word for this feeling, he couldn’t think of it right now.

Without a word, he leaned his head back to rest against the side of his bed and shut far-too-heavy eyes… in moments, he was asleep.   
Ron and Ginny spent a long minute looking across George to one another, then decided against trying to move him, and closed their eyes too…

-

Across the room, gently undulating in the light wind, Fred smiled.

It had nearly torn him apart to watch his twin so broken about being the survivor, and being able to do nothing, say nothing to console him; all attempts to speak to George had done nothing but torment the other, so he had not attempted a third try to communicate directly.

But it had happened.

George broke… he shattered… it all came out in a torrent of emotion… and it was what he had been waiting for. A chance to change, a chance to heal, a chance to let their family, their friends and professionals help him piece things together again in a different shape to before…

With a sad smile, Fred moved over to look down on George, kneeling down to take one last, long look… and sighed. He didn’t need him to watch over, anymore.

It would take time… a long time perhaps, but eventually his brother would be fine.

Funny, they used to joke about being one-another’s living mirrors… and now here George was, fulfilling his role while Fred kind of fell short in that area. He laughed at the irony, resolving to tell Dumbledore about it -their Headmaster being the only other dead person he ever had contact with these days, due to his deceasedness.

"Well," he said to the room at large standing up, "It looks like things are going to be just fine… my work here is done!"

He turned to walk into the surprisingly bright light that seemed to be coming through the open window of their bedroom, despite it being far closer to midnight than dawn.

Familiar voices were beckoning him closer, so he almost missed it…

But Fred found himself turning his head to see Ron glaring at him from one slitted eyeball, and mumbling, “But you didn’t do anything you royal twat… now go on into the light and stop haunting my underwear drawer, we’ve got him.”

Throwing his little brother a thumbs-up, Fred began to laugh, and didn’t stop until the brilliant white light had disappeared without a trace behind him.

* * *

**~)0(~**

 

**The End**


End file.
